


like starlight

by astronomicallie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Family Dynamics, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26310121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomicallie/pseuds/astronomicallie
Summary: "I'm the replacement. We're attacking the helpless man trying to escape the crowds, right?"Felix spins and hisses,"Helpless?"The bandit on the ground scoffs. "Replacement?"Felix has plenty on his mind, including the recent disappearance of his childhood friend: the crown prince Dimitri. But when he storms out of another fruitless debate with his father, he finds himself dragged into something even more nonsensical: the company of a wizard named Sylvain. What follows is arguably too much magic, a couple stolen hearts, and a new appreciation for the elderly.Inspired by Howl's Moving Castle, both the book by Diana Wynne Jones and the film by Studio Ghibli.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	like starlight

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is. this is a big one. i'm excited. couple notes:
> 
>   * this work is _inspired_ by howl's moving castle. some things will reflect that, others will not. this is not just the book/movie with a sylvix skin, which will become clearer later on! 
>   * they aren't in the canon world of fódlan 
>   * "isn't dimitri's birthday in the winter?" yeah, pretend we are in the southern hemisphere please 
>   * i have this tentatively plotted out to nine chapters as of now. 
>   * updates will happen when they can. i have no set schedule! 
> 


There’s a parade today and Felix Fraldarius is trying his best to forget all about it. It’s a difficult task considering he can’t seem to stop scowling out the window, where people are still setting up bright banners and flags bearing the Faerghus emblem and Blaiddyd Crest up and down the street. It’s a lot of pomp and circumstance for a premature birthday celebration. Too much, given the situation.

“Are you listening to me?” his father asks.

Felix pulls his gaze away from the window before passing children can notice he’s glaring at them like a crotchety old man. “Absolutely not.”

Rodrigue regards him from his seat in their parlor. “Glenn asked if you would be willing to assist in his search for His Highness.”

That sets Felix’s scowl back into full bloom, fire licking under his skin. “His search?” he asks, venomous. “Our prince can’t  _ possibly _ be missing. What’s all the celebration for, then?”

Rodrigue sighs, shoulders slumping. “Are we having this conversation again, Felix?”

“We’ll have it over and over if you continue to think you can convince me that this—” he gestures to the window as he steps closer to his father “—is a good idea.”

Rodrigue inclines his head in quiet acquiescence, much like he does in council. “King Lambert has decided it would be best to keep Prince Dimitri’s disappearance hidden from the public eye. There’s no way to know how many threats we’d be facing if rival powers sought to take advantage of the current chaos in the castle.”

“We’ve had friendly relations with both the Empire and the Alliance for decades. Why the paranoia?”

“It is not paranoia,” Rodrigue says, words clipped, “it is  _ caution _ , and it’d be best if you didn’t use such cutting words towards the decisions of our king.”

“Is it not our job to criticize the king when we find ourselves in staunch opposition?” The Fraldarius family has served as both advisor and knight to the Blaiddyds for generations— it’s only healthy to exercise some skepticism.

“It  _ is, _ but it’s also our job to know when to back down and offer support elsewhere. His Majesty has preferred the council of Cornelia ever since the attacks on our borders started, anyhow.”

Felix easily catches the shadow that flickers over his father’s face. Rodrigue, like every Fraldarius before him, shows only the truest form of devotion to his king. However, for one of the first times in their families’ shared histories, King Lambert Blaiddyd seems to value another’s council over that of his Fraldarius advisor. Instead, he’s taken to a woman who joined his council from a neighboring nation as if she has any more information on the random attacks on the borders of the three main countries in the region than Rodrigue does.

The thought clearly still stings.

Felix’s mouth twists. “This doesn’t make sense. Lambert has never been so frightened of retaliation, and if Dimitri has truly disappeared in the dead of night, we need all the help we can get.”

“Cornelia is enlisting witches and wizards as we speak. I’ve no doubt they will be able to make some sense of his disappearance, if any sense can be made at all through magical means.”

_ Magic. _ A frivolous practice for equally frivolous people. Every magic user that Felix has met has been odd. (Whether that’s more indicative of the company he tends to keep or magic in general is left to interpretation.) “Cornelia is too invested in this. All trust shouldn’t be placed in one advisor. Having her handle everything is foolish at best and negligent at worst.”

“You hardly  _ know _ Cornelia, Felix.”

“Does anyone? The stories around that woman—”

“Are  _ stories. _ She’s a perfectly capable witch— the head of our school of sorcery, I’ll have you know.”

“Don’t presume I’m ignorant of the hierarchy of our nation simply because I oppose it.”

Rodrigue takes a long moment to study Felix, his blue eyes soft. That’s the worst part of these disagreements— Rodrigue rarely ever gets angry with Felix. No, he’s far more content to let Felix build up like a volcano and watch passively.  _ Passively, _ which means that no matter what Felix brings up, Rodrigue will do little to assist in change.

It irritates Felix to no end. What sort of heir is he if his father still regards him as one might a child in the midst of a tantrum? And no matter how clearly he repeats himself, how much he debates, nothing has come of these discussions. He’s still waiting for the day that he stops caring altogether, but with all the frustration he has in him, he may be an old man by the time that happens.

Sometimes he envies his brother. Glenn wasn’t born with the major Crest affiliated with their family, so he doesn’t have the entire weight of their house on his shoulders. Now, though, Felix thinks they’ve both been bested by circumstance. The only thing he wants anymore is to be heard as he is: an individual, not someone blindly following a king.

“I presume nothing,” Rodrigue says. “I only wish for… ah, I don’t know, Felix. Sometimes I wonder if you would rather be anywhere but here. You seem to resent your role more often than not.”

“Don’t pin this on me. I’m just concerned that our family is fine with pretending everything is alright while we have no damn clue where he could be.” He knows that’s not fair; Glenn’s been organizing search efforts since the news broke, but maybe that makes it worse. Glenn was so quick to spring into action, and Rodrigue rolled over for Lambert’s advised complacency.

“As I’ve said, King Lambert—”

“His  _ father.  _ Excuse me for speaking out of turn,” Felix says, eyes narrowed, “but something’s wrong, and you know it. And you’re doing nothing.”

“Felix Hugo.” Just like that, Rodrigue’s voice cracks like a whip. He stands. “I won’t tolerate you suggesting I’m being complicit in Dimitri’s—”

“But you  _ are, _ aren’t you? Sitting by, waiting for others to find news. Sending your son out instead of yourself. What happened to treating our prince like family?” Jealousy sparks in Felix at that, but he stomps it down.

“That’s enough.”

Felix clenches his jaw tight enough that he feels a dull ache begin. If nothing else, he knows when he has stepped too far. He reaches for his neck, pulling the adornment around it hard enough to undo the clasp. He tosses it at his father. “Fine.”

Rodrigue holds up the cord, inspecting the lone iron spur star at the end of it with wide eyes. “Felix,” he says softly, brow furrowing.

“I’m leaving.” Felix storms to the door, strapping his sword around his hip. “Tell Glenn I need to think about it.”

“Where are you going?”

A vindictive part of him wants to say,  _ Out. _ But, with his hand on the knob, he says, “Molinaro’s.”

Then he plunges himself into the atrocious festivities, already dreading the cheers that will no doubt plague him until he makes it to the café.

* * *

He ducks down an alley as soon as he can, away from the posturing of the military’s marches. The sight of them in royal silvers and blues with banners flying overhead is enough to turn his stomach over and upset the meager breakfast he had this morning. 

His detour won’t slow him down; he’s lived here all his life. That’s also why Rodrigue didn’t chase him out: he knows Felix always finds his way back home eventually. Even if his mood hasn’t particularly improved by then.

The only problem with traveling by alley is it tends to get you some unwanted attention. Especially if you’re dressed as Felix is— without any means to dress ‘commonly,’ a sword at his hip and a confidence to his step that exudes nobility. That kind of walk attracts a certain breed of lowlife. One that plays more recklessly than the rest.

“What do we have here?”

It’s a scratchy voice to Felix’s left, wrought with the rasp of someone with smoke in their lungs. He chooses not to acknowledge it, continuing to move through the alley until another reedier voice pipes up at his right:

“Some high-and-mighty noble that thinks he’s better ‘n us I bet, Boss.”

Felix rolls his eyes and continues walking until the pair realizes they won’t scare him with a few barks. They step in front of him; there’s a tall brunet and a shorter blond. Felix wrinkles his nose at them and stops. He won’t turn his back and run, that’s asking for more trouble than he wants to deal with. “What do you want?” he asks.

The brunet nudges his partner. “I think you’re right, Finny. He doesn’t even wanna look at us.”

Finny snickers. “And such a sourpuss too! Y’know, you’d be a lot nicer to look at if you dropped the scowlin’, little lordling.”

“What do you want?” Felix repeats.

“I think you know exactly what we want, sunshine.” But instead of clarifying, the man called Boss settles his hands in his pockets and makes a show of looking over Felix’s shoulder at the parade of trumpets and horns he left behind. The message is clear:  _ No one will hear you yell. _ “Wonderful day for a march, huh?”

Felix wants to spit on his shoes. “And you’re enjoying it from the alleys?”

“Oh, they don’t want to see people like us. We’ve got no money for all those vendors, y’see. That’s where you come in.”

“What makes you think I have anything on me?”

“C’mon, you’d be stupid to walk around  _ without _ a little somethin’ on you, yeah? And dressed like you are… I see that sword. I know money when I see it.”

“You don’t even know whose sword it is,” Felix say coolly.

“Don’t know, don’t care. Bet it’d make a pretty penny if you’ve got nothing else on you.”

The sword is finely made, ornate but not gaudy. Glenn gave it to him for his most recent birthday. “You’re an obstinate fool if you think you can even try.”

“Sorry, little lordling, but I wasn’t taught fancy words like you.” Boss raises his hand. Finny reaches for something at his hip. “Now, are you gonna play nice or are you lookin’ to lose a few fingers?”

Felix bristles, the indignation rising up like a hot, sharp wave that makes him bare his teeth in a snarl. They either have no idea which ‘little lordling’ he actually is (and spoken so venomously too, like the title itself is a brand), or they’re dumber than a bag of rocks. No one would challenge a Fraldarius outright, even if said Fraldarius was outnumbered. His family learns swordsmanship before penmanship. 

He eyes the two— there’s no doubt that there’s one behind him too, judging from the sound of heavy footsteps in the distance. Idiots. They’re not even trying to be sneaky about it. But he does admit he could have been in trouble, had this area been even the slightest bit more claustrophobic.

There’s nothing he can do about it now besides reach for his sword and try to intimidate. “Not another step, or I’m taking an arm for my trouble.”

“Look at that fire!” Boss grins and takes a step forward, drawing a wicked dagger. “All you nobles are the same, all bark and no—”

There’s a shriek of steel. Boss jumps back with a screech to the same tune of the flutes on the streets. His feet move too quickly underneath him to properly catch his shock, and he goes tumbling to the ground as his dagger skitters away. Felix glares down at him, then at his subordinate who’s much less confident all of a sudden. Boss reaches for his chest, blanching when he feels the gash there. The wound is shallow, but it serves its purpose as a warning.

“My name is Felix Fraldarius, and my family is not one to dally about without any means to defend themselves.”

Finny realizes his place and turns to scramble back down the alley from where he came. Boss calls after him, spitting swears as he scrambles to get into a less compromising position on the ground. Felix allows that much, sword drawn and ready to attack at any false move.

Boss has hatred in his eyes, pure and burning. “Alright, spoiled brat.” He looks past Felix and down the alley once more. “Get him— wait... Roald? Roald?”

“Sorry, sorry,” says a flippant voice. “Roald had some business to take care of, so I’m his replacement. We’re attacking the helpless man trying to escape the crowds, right?”

Felix spins and hisses,  _ “Helpless?”  _

The bandit on the ground scoffs. “Replacement?”

In the alley stands a tall man dressed in clothes that toe the line of gaudiness. His hair looks scarlet in the scant alley sunlight. Patterns of silver symbols and stripes trail up the teal sleeves of his mantle, and he wears a white shirt that’s unbuttoned to a gratuitous degree. It all billows in a nonexistent breeze. 

He looks ridiculous.

The next candidate for Fódlan’s traveling circus carries a perfume like bergamot and has light brown eyes that dance between Felix and his adversary as he regards them with a thoughtful frown on his face. “Huh. This isn’t how I expected to be welcomed.”

“You’re not welcome at all,” Felix says. “Now leave us to settle this matter.”

Those eyes land on him _ , _ and Felix feels like a bug pinned to a board. The stranger must not find whatever he’s looking for because before Felix can properly reprimand him, the playful light in his eyes shutters. His smile remains. Felix finds himself amazed at how well he can pull off something so fake.

“Okay.” The redhead turns to Boss, who has scrambled back to his feet with his dagger in hand. “I’m sorry that you’ve accosted this man, but I’m gonna have to ask that you follow your friend back there and leave us alone.”

Boss seems to be quickly losing the will to stick around for such confusion. “And why in the hell would I do that? You don’t scare me, pretty boy.”

“Really?” Pretty Boy says, then points behind himself with his thumb. “They might.”

Felix follows the direction. Emerging from the walls are amalgamations of black sludge taking vague shapes and shifting down the alleyway. He makes a noise of disgust, but it gets drowned out by Boss’s shriek and the heavy falling of his feet as he takes off in the direction Finny went.

Felix scoffs, looking after his retreat. “Coward.”

There’s an arm around his shoulders then, urging him forward. “You know, there are perks to being a coward.”

Felix tries to shrug out of the man’s grasp with a scowl, but he’s held fast.

“Calm down. That fancy sword won’t do anything to them.”

They’re magic, then. Felix resists the urge to throw a glance back at the goo creatures, whose movements make wet  _ schlork _ s across the stone. “What’s your plan, then?”

“Still figuring that one out. Should have made sure I lost them before I decided to be a hero for such an unwilling gentleman in distress.”

“I was  _ not _ in distress.”

The man waves his free left hand, flippant. He’s got rings on his pointer and ring fingers, and the stones set in their bands flash with the motion. “Semantics. Now, we’re going to turn this corner up here. It’s useless to try to beat them on foot in a straight line. The trick is to surprise them.”

“What  _ are _ they?”

“Goons.”

“Helpful.”

He gets a smile for that one, bright and beaming. “Thank you!”

As they veer down the corner, Felix hears the goo men scramble to turn, their own momentum causing a variety of amusing and disturbing sounds. But despite that small victory, they have other problems to worry about.

“Do you have any plans for the dead end?”

“Of a sort.”

Why Felix thought he’d get a straight answer the second time is beyond him, but there’s not much else he can hold onto to inspire confidence— especially since, even as he tries to dig his heels in to keep from walking  _ straight into a wall, _ the glamorous travesty of a man keeps them moving forward. “Wait, hold on!”

“No can do. They’re still coming. Hey, uh...” Pretty Boy hesitates, turning to glance at Felix. “Don’t kill me for this, alright?”

“If you even told me what you’re thinking—”

“Alright, good.”

The arm over Felix’s shoulders sinks to his waist and tightens, pulling him snug. He immediately goes to shove the man away with a snarl on his lips, but then the ground beneath his feet is gone and air rushes past his ears, sending locks of navy hair whipping at his face.

The shock sucks his breath out of his lungs, and he looks down, frantic, to see the colorful rooftops of the town falling below them. The man (a  _ wizard, _ Felix realizes) laughs. It’s a quiet, honest sound, and Felix can’t tell if its volume is to keep people from looking up or if he’s genuinely that amused.

“Straighten your legs, okay? Just walk, I’ll do the rest.”

Felix has never liked being helpless, but under the threat of falling through someone’s roof, he can do little else but follow directions, making what he hopes to be proper walking motions in midair. It’s hard to do when you don’t have a surface to step on, which is a lesson he learns very intimately in those first few moments with his legs cycling stupidly.

“Great,” the wizard says, and he starts walking too with his hand on the small of Felix’s back.

It’s exhilarating. Something about it feels inherently unnatural. Humans are not meant to be flying; this is something Felix understands very clearly. He knows of magic, knows of the witches and wizards in the world, but if he had any say in matters today, he’d be back on the ground and going on with his day. After a moment of adjustment, however, he stops worrying about falling and instead wonders just how in the world no one thinks to look up and see them in the clear blue sky.

Well. With the parade still going, its horns and cheers distant, Felix can imagine that the general public is otherwise preoccupied. All the better for them. He wonders what they would look like: a pair of opposites walking on the clouds. Not clouds, exactly, but… the buoyancy he feels makes the experience that much stranger. Each step actually moves him forward— or, he thinks as much. Maybe it’s the wizard’s hand at his back.

“Do you have to be so handsy?” he asks when he’s finally able to stop gawking at the parade below them.

“Do you want to crash land on the street?”

Felix scoffs. “How do we get down from here?”

“We go down.”

“No shit,” he mutters. “Where are we going?”

_ “That _ part is for you to decide, darling.”

“I’m not your darling.”

The wizard’s brow twitches. Good. Felix would rather he teach this lesson quickly: he is not someone to be trifled with, and if this man couldn’t glean that from the fact that Felix was  _ absolutely fine on his own, _ then he’s either slow or ignorant. But that perfectly sculpted smile is hard to deter, and he turns it back on Felix. “Tough crowd, huh? Alright, how about ‘sweetheart?’”

Felix ignores that. “And you are?”

“C’mon, don’t you know who I am?”

“Not a damn clue, and all the better for it.”

There it is again, that twitch. After a moment: “Sylvain. So,  _ light of my life, _ why were you sneaking through alleyways?”

Right. Felix wants to get back on the ground and as far away from any of this nonsense as possible. “I’m going to Molinaro’s.”

“A wonderful choice.”

“You know it?”

“Vaguely. I think I got kicked out once.”

Felix snorts despite himself. He ignores the proud grin Sylvain gives him. “Should I worry about your friends back there?”

Sylvain purses his lips. “Let me get back to you on that.”

_ No, thank you. _ Felix would rather not meet this damned wizard ever again, if he’s able to cause this much havoc in such little time. “You  _ do _ know where Molinaro’s is, right?”

“Of course.” Sylvain blinks, looks at the colorful roofs, and his feet slow mid-air. “I have no clue,” he says, more honestly.

Felix doesn’t have time to reprimand him, because he can feel them sinking in the air as Sylvain idles. He reaches to grab Sylvain’s stupidly fluttering shirt. “Okay, okay, I’ll give you directions, just— just keep going.”

“Oh, right.”

The rest of their stroll in the sky is calm. Molinaro’s doesn’t lie much farther away, tucked on a nice side street laid in colorful brick that doesn’t have as many parade-goers around. That being said, there are still plenty of flags and streamers. Felix wrinkles his nose in disdain.

“Here,” Sylvain says. They start descending slowly. “Let’s keep you away from any more strangers. You’re surprisingly standoffish.”

Felix scoffs as they approach a balcony over the restaurant itself. He recognizes it— Ashe and his partner, Dedue, live in the area above. It’s cheaper to keep the entire thing that way. Still, he doesn’t know how to feel about being deposited right into their home instead of walking in through the restaurant like a normal person.

He barely has the start of an argument out before Sylvain gives him a nudge, his hand leaving his back. He’s on his own for a dizzying, terrifying moment, and he spins as best he can mid-air. “No, no, wait,  _ Sylvain.” _

“Calm down! Calm down, just keep walking.” But Sylvain’s there to help anyway, moving closer and taking his outstretched hand. Just like that, the comforting buoyancy is back. (Felix doesn’t know how it could have become comforting so quickly, but it’s better than the impending sense of  _ falling _ he had just a moment ago.) “Come on. Just take a few more steps back, and you’ll be on the rail.”

“Oh, right, it’s  _ so _ easy—”

“There you go, you’re a natural!”

“Go to hell,” Felix grumbles, but it’s hard to spout vitriol when he’s tentatively stepping back and looking for solid ground beneath him. His foot meets the rail after a moment. Sylvain helps him get onto the more stable floor of the balcony, settling on the polished wood with slightly wobbly legs. It feels odd when Sylvain’s still standing on air.

“About my tails…” Sylvain looks over his shoulder with all the theatrics of a street performer. “I’ll lure them away. Don’t worry about it. I doubt they even caught a look at your face.” He turns back and winks as he steps onto the railing, balancing easily with his hands in his pockets. “Pity to them, huh?”

Felix scowls.

A low whistle. “Wow,  _ really _ tough crowd. That’s rare. Well…” The playful nature fades away as Sylvain’s voice lowers. “Walk home on the main streets, alright? So you can get back safe. Just in case.”

“I told you, I can handle myself. If you hadn’t showed up—”

“Please.”

To get this magic idiot away, Felix says, “Sure. Okay, I’ll stay safe.”

“Good.” The smile comes back. Softer, this time. Real. Felix feels stricken with familiarity. “Perfect, actually.”

He stretches, and Felix’s eyes catch on the brilliant green stone hanging around his neck. Dimly, he feels the loss of his own pendant: the spur he tossed at his father. Hopefully he’ll be able to swipe it back when he gets home, but until then, the sudden awareness of its absence jostles him even further than today already has.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me—” Sylvain extends a single foot backwards. Then, he falls straight down. Felix feels a churn in his stomach as he grips the rail to look over and see a Sylvain-shaped disaster on the ground, but he finds nothing. Nothing, except for some pedestrians who blink up at him with wide eyes. Right.

Perfect. Felix straightens his clothes and turns on his heel to head into the top floor of Molinaro’s. The scent of bergamot follows him like a ghost. “Damn wizards.”

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/astronomicallie)! (blatant howl's moving castle theme, heh.) thanks for any kudos/comments, and i hope you have a wonderful day!


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